Wisdom from the box

We have a big box of .... stuff ... in one of our lower kitchen cabinets. It's really a glorified "junk drawer," and is filled with an odd assortment of old mail, documents, manuals, drawings, the occasional sticker and bandaid, medical records, greeting cards. It's a potpourri really. It's a big joke in our house when one of us is looking for something, and says, "Have you seen the (whatever it is)", and the other one of us will reply. "I don't know. Check the box."

Good times.

Today, Mike was apparently struck with a sudden burst of inspiration, and decided to clean out the box. This is what was left when he was done (and had cut its contents by at least 2/3):

There's some Spiderman wrapping paper in there, and the long lost directions to one of Paxton's games, and the rope that we bought (probably two years ago) to put up as a clothes line. He made a huge stack of stuff to recycle, another to file in a more appropriate place, and a third for me to look through. I still haven't gotten to my own pile yet, but I did rescue something cool from the stack for the recycle bin... It was something I'd liked and printed from the internet awhile ago, and it just spoke so brilliantly to what I was saying in my post about following your passion. I don't know who wrote it, so I can't credit it, but it is sage advice indeed:

"Vocations which we wanted to pursue, but didn't, bleed, like colors, on the whole of our existence". Honore De Balzac said that, and he was right.  Do not let one more day go by without honoring the vocation your soul calls you to pursue.  And don't pretend you don't know what it is.  Of course you do.  You can feel it in your stomach whenever you think about it;  whenever you see another person doing it.  

Life is so very short. Do now what you yearn to do in your life. You do not have to "quit your day job" in order to do this. You may do so if you choose to, but you do not have to. Many people advance a vocation while holding down their "regular job".  You can, too. Then ease into your vocation and turn it into your "regular job".  

But you must give energy to your vocation starting today.  I mean, today.

Today I Sat

I'm not very good at sitting still. Which is ironic, since I am so often just longing to sit, even for a minute. As a busy mom of four kids, my sitting time is limited. But, sitting is not my forte. I'm ... antsy. I'm a fidgeter. I'm a daydreamer. I'm easily distracted. Unless I have a really engrossing book (and am in the correct mood to read and pay attention to said book), I find sitting difficult. I have no doubt that if I were a kid in school today, that I'd be labeled with ADD or ADHD or some other such disorder. As an adult, I'm well aware that my long-standing attachment to caffeine has less to do with enjoyment, and more to do with self-medicating. It takes off some of the edge. And it makes sitting more tolerable.

Today I took all four kids to Spencer's orthodontist appointment (when, I might add, I was not fully caffeinated) Ordinarily, Mike takes the morning or afternoon off so I don't have to bring all the kids, but today he had a meeting that he couldn't miss.

So off we went.

And it went fine. I mean, it's an orthodontist appointment. Nothing too terribly stressful or strenuous. Still, it was an hour in the waiting room, trying to keep the three year old happy. We played with the beads on the bead-racer-thing, and made our hand prints on the hand-print-doodle-thing, and we colored on my phone, and we sat and we stood, and we watched the movie that was playing (The Sound of Music, my mother's all-time favorite movie) And when Spencer finally came out of the exam room, I was ready and thankful to be going home.

When we got out to the car, everyone climbed in, and Tegan sat not in her carseat, but on the seat next to her car seat.

I told her, "Let's jump in your seat so I can buckle you up."

"No, I want to sit here." It should be noted that she said this very matter-of-factly, and sweetly.

I reminded her that her car seat was the safest place for her to sit, and that I wanted to keep her safe.

"No, no. I know that," she told me. "I'll sit in my seat when we leave. Right now I want to sit here."

"But we're leaving now."

"But I want to sit here first."

Silence. I really wanted to go home, and knew that if I answered her right then I wouldn't be nearly as patient and kind as I wanted to be. I also knew that if I let her sit there for awhile, but acted all huffy and irritated about it, that the act would be completely counterproductive. It would do her, and myself, no favors. So I waited.

One of the complaints that some readers had about my Protecting Natalie post was that I came across as feeling somehow superior, as though I never had bad days or bad moments as a parent myself.

I have bad days.

I have bad moments.

And these moments are actually the moments I struggle with the most... the moments when my kids are simply asking me to be still.  As much as I love the idea of stillness, and the concept of stillness... the practice of stillness sometimes still really eludes me.

And I want to do better.

We had nowhere to be.  It was 4:00 in the afternoon.  Mike wouldn't be home for another hour and a half.  We were getting takeout for dinner, so no one had to cook.   There was absolutely no reason we couldn't sit there for awhile.  My desire to be home (for no other reason than the fact that I was tired and sensed out and antsy) did not, and should not, supersede the desires of my daughter and her three brothers, who were happy to just ..... sit .... at least for awhile.

So I got in the front seat, and told her - calmly, happily - that we could sit, and to let me know when she was ready to go.  I read a little bit of the book I'd brought with me, Everett looked through my CDs and picked some music for the ride home, and the older boys played with their DSes.

And Tegan?  She just SAT, happily, like she wanted to.

Five minutes later, she'd had enough sitting and climbed into her car seat.   I buckled her in, and we headed home... all five of us calm and refreshed.

My mind had fought mightily against staying and sitting, but my instinct had told me to be still.   So I stayed.  I sat.  And it was good.

Time for change

Half an hour ago, Paxton's hair looked like this:

Now it looks like this:

And in between, it looked like this:

And I'm finding myself strangely.... jealous.  I want to cut off all my hair. Or move to another country. Or give away all my possessions. Something about this new year has me all fired up, but in a good way. And I can't help but feel like it's God's way of preparing me for something really big, and really radical.  

Yes, big things are happening. 

I'm reminiscent of a kid on Christmas Eve.  I can't sit still, I can't sleep, I'm sort of jumping out of my skin with excitement.  It may not lead to actual head-shaving, but at this point, I'm not ruling anything out.

I earned a piece of paper

This came in the mail today, so I'm all like, official and stuff. I received an email several days ago with my final grades... which, out of principle (grades don't matter), I won't post. But I will say this: the school is of the opinion that I did me some good learnin'.

So, I'm looking at this certificate and I'm thinking a couple of things...

1.  I really, really need to do a follow-up post to my What Are You Passionate About? post about schools and degrees, extrinsic rewards and the importance - or non-importance - of things like certifications and tests and grades.

2.  Although the person who scoffed and dismissed it because it was "just a certificate" program, as opposed to a Bachelor's, sort of hurt my feelings at the time, I am over it.  I worked hard for it.  I studied hard for it.  I put a lot of time and effort into it.  I learned and digested a lot of information in the past year.  Certificate or no certificate, validation or no validation... it was something I was passionate about, and I did it.  And I'm proud of that.

3.  If I keep it on the table much longer, it will, without a doubt, be spilled on by the end of the evening.

Back into its plastic sleeve it went, to be tucked away with all the other things of its kind, never really to be looked at again.

I'm excited to be done with that part of my journey, and I can't wait to start the next piece of the adventure.

Why My Kids Will Never Be Socialized

"My only problem with homeschooling/unschooling is that the kids may not get out to socialize."

I read this objection yesterday, but of course it was not the first time I heard it (nor will it be the last.) As any homeschooler will tell you, it is something we hear ad nauseum. ALL. THE. TIME.  It is hands down, without a doubt, case-closed, fat-lady-singing, the most common comment, question, and misconception I ever hear about homeschooling. Most days I can hear it and just let it go.  Most days I can keep myself from groaning and saying, "Really? Just.... really?" Most days I can reconcile myself with the fact that most people are ignorant towards what both the word socialization means, and to what homeschooling means, and that they truly don't realize what it is they're saying.

Some days though  ....  Holy moly.

And I get it.  I do.  No matter how unfounded the concern is to those of us who do actually homeschool, it is a concern that is shared by many, many people. So I'd be doing myself, my kids, and the homeschooling community at large a disservice if I didn't address it, at least once.  

Here then, is my response to the "socialization" question, once and for all.

I have not socialized my kids, and this is why:

Spencer was still an infant when we first decided we'd homeschool, so I figured I'd have a few years to get a head start on that socialization.  I would not be the parent that dropped the ball.  I would not let the detractors be right.  I would socialize my child if it was the last thing I did. But alas, somehow life got away from me.  We were busy with church. We were busy visiting with grandparents, and with his aunts and uncles.We'd made some good friends during story time at the local bookstore, and we were having too much fun with our twice a week play dates. We took a mom and baby exercise class, and a swim class, and we took long, leisurely strolls through the neighborhood.

By the time he was "school age" I still hadn't worked socialization time into our schedule.  But it was okay!  He was still young!

We'd moved by then, and were in a new state.  We were learning the area, and meeting new people, and discovering new things.  We'd found a new church, and made new friends.  Plus, we'd had Paxton by then, and were busy with everything that comes with a new baby.  Surely we'd be back out there ready to get started on some socialization soon.

But then we got busy again.  We'd joined a local homeschool group, and the boys were making friends... which I'm afraid led to more play dates. Around the same time, Spencer joined cub scouts, which meant at least a night or two out of the house every single week, plus events and dinners and pinewood derbies and award nights.   And while we lived in a tiny town, we had neighbors just across the street.  Their daughter came over to play nearly every day after school.  I didn't want to be unwelcoming, so how could I say no?  How could they know that she was cutting into our socialization time?

By the time Everett came along, Spencer was seven, and Paxton was only three and a half.  I still had time.  But we were still busy with scouts, and the homeschool group, and just life with three kids.  Weekends were out, because we spent them visiting with my parents - and all their friends - up at their seasonal camp in Maine.  Or traveling to Massachusetts to visit the family there.  Or hanging out with my sister's family.  Or running any number of errands around town.  Or chatting with the people at the dump. Or the library. Or the pizza place.  Or the post office.

And then we got crazy.  Then we decided to move clear across the country. For the first year we rented.   But even renting requires an awful lot of set-up, an awful lot of comings and goings and people and places.  There was the guy who set up our satellite. And the ones who delivered our furniture. There were shopping trips to appliance stores and furniture stores, and trips to check out the library.  There was hanging out at the community pool. There was the bug guy (which was new;  hadn't had to have a bug guy in New Hampshire!) who learned all the boys' names and always brought them lollipops.  There was another homeschool group.  There was a street full of kids that always wanted to start a game of soccer in the road, and next door neighbors who were constantly ringing our doorbell asking if the boys could come out and play.   There was a constant whirlwind of activity. Surely, I couldn't have been expected to socialize them then.

When we bought a house, I thought life would slow down.  Spencer was ten by then, but maybe it wasn't too late for the others.  At first things were crazy, what with the contractors to talk to, and the renovations to watch, and the next door neighbors to barbeque with.  But things would settle down.  Things would HAVE to settle down.  And then... then, I could finally start on some socialization.

But it wasn't to be.

I was pregnant again, which meant lots of trips (with all the boys) to my OB.  After Tegan was born, we joined another homeschool group, and we started going on field trips.  All three boys took swimming lessons.  Spencer and Paxton joined scouts again.  Paxton also joined a little league team, and when he was old enough Everett followed suit.  Everett started a gymnastics class, and made a new best friend... which led to new friends for all six of us.  Mike got us involved with some off-roading groups, who we frequently joined for both 4-wheeling and organized clean-up days in the desert.  We started geocaching, both by ourselves and with others.  We found out I had a cousin I never met who lives in the area, and we're now babysitting her sweet six month old daughter at least a couple of times a week.  We got involved with - and made friends at - a democratic free school; and we started attending a twice a month homeschool group at a local church.

And this year, we definitely won't get to any socializing, because in addition to all of the above, we're planning a month long trip across the country... to see the sights, to visit old and new friends, to catch up with relatives, and to attend a 4-day unschooling conference.

I give up. 

My children will never be socialized.  I don't have the time.  I thought I would get to it, really wanted to get to it, but they've just been too busy.

What Are You Passionate About?

Last week, a friend and I were having some drinks at a Mexican restaurant. We were seated outside - just a few feet from the host - and were chatting, like we usually do, about kids and education, learning and unschooling. Shortly before we left, the host (a kid I'm guessing in his early twenties) turned to us and asked,

"Are you two teachers?" Then he laughed a little and said, "Not that I was eavesdropping."

We told him what we were: moms who are just really passionate about our kids, and about alternative forms of education. We introduced him to unschooling when he showed an interest, and told him a little bit about ourselves and our kids. When I mentioned that I wrote, this already animated guy's face completely lit up.

"I'm a writer!" He told us how much he loved writing, and how he's written plays and poems, books and short stories. He was beaming.

As the conversation progressed, it gradually wove itself back around to the subject of school. When it did, this kid's whole demeanor changed with it. His shoulders slumped, his tone softened, and he visibly just... deflated... when he said, "I go back to school next week. Twelve. Hours. A. Day. All science."

I was actually rendered a little speechless by the fact that he was going to school for something in a science related field, when he clearly had such a passion for the arts. Thankfully, my friend still had control of her voice, because she asked all the questions that were on my tongue. He was a biology major. He was studying to become a nurse.

He said he loved it. Only....

his FACE didn't say he loved it. His face had said he loved writing. And when she asked him about it again, he dismissed it out-of-hand.

"Oh, writing's just my hobby."

I live in the real world - most of the time - and I know that marrying dreams with necessity can be a complicated thing. I know that people have all kinds of reasons for choosing the fields that they choose, and I know that a five minute conversation with a stranger does not make me an expert on his vocational desires. Maybe he is just as passionate about nursing as he is about writing. Maybe I read him wrong.

I hope I was wrong.

And I hope that my own kids do the thing that they're passionate about, the thing that makes their eyes light up, the thing that they know, deep down, that they were created to do.

College is great if it's used to further an interest or lay a foundation for an inspired career.  But is it necessary for greatness?  Necessary for success?

No!

And I'll put myself out there and say that in a huge percentage of cases, it turns into nothing more than a hugely expensive waste of time and money, especially if you don't yet know what you want to be "when you grow up." Will college tell you?  What on earth is to be gained from a college experience that you couldn't get ten times over by traveling, by taking advantage of your public (and free!) library, by researching how to start your own business, by exploring what it is you're truly passionate about?

I don't care if my kids make tons of money.  I don't care if they go to college, or earn lots of titles after their names, or work in a corner office with a view.  What I care about is their happiness.  What I care about is whether or not they are following their own passions.

If you're following someone else's path, someone else's idea of achievement, how successful can you ever really be?  Giving up your own sense of self for the high paying job or the white picket fence is not success.

When I talk to my kids about their future, and about jobs, I am ever thankful for the people in their lives who are clearly doing what they love to do...people from all walks who are doing all different kinds of things; people who are living, breathing, inspiring examples of following your passion:

The friend who took a huge pay cut to follow his dream of becoming a cop, who didn't give up during the years that he struggled with only being able to find part-time work, and who is now a full-time bona fide police officer.

The cousin who loves music so much that he found a way to make it a career, and works as a sound technician for a big theater downtown.

The uncle who works out of his house as a computer programmer, often in his pajamas, and who loves what he's doing so much that there is almost no distinction between his computer work and his computer play.

The friend who became a video game designer, who worked his way up from company to company, and who was a lead designer on some hugely well-known and well-liked games.

And the list goes on.

When people ask about why I homeschool, this answer is always there, always on the forefront.  I want my kids to be able to follow their passions.  Not that it's not possible when you're in school...But how much easier it is when you're given freedom, when you're not tempted to let yourself be herded into the masses, be talked into following someone else's plan, be persuaded to take someone else's path.   Maybe the person who loves math isn't meant to be an accountant, but a forest ranger.  Maybe the person who loves to write isn't meant to be a journalist, but something else entirely.  Maybe when we're young and impressionable, it's all too confusing, and maybe well-meaning adults and schools just muddy the issue.   Maybe we need to get the heck out of the way, and let the kids be.

I've spent way too much time wondering where I'd be today if I hadn't gone to school, if I hadn't spent twelve years being told to put my pen and notebook away and pay attention.  To stop writing, and doodling, and dreaming, and do what I was supposed to be doing.  I can't do anything to change my own past, but what I can do is to live my life in such a way that my kids can learn from it.

I can trust my own passions, and follow them.  I can live authentically and joyfully, and in the manner that I was individually created.  I can show them that life's not about having a certain amount of money, or a certain kind of job, or a certain kind of house.  It's about being who you are.

It's about finding what you love to do, what you were meant to do...

and doing it.

Excuse My Blog

That's all. My blog is undergoing some major renovations (it IS the new year after all) so please excuse its appearance while I work on it. And pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Here's a picture from today's (successful!) trip to Target. Of the balls.

(Insert Spencer laughter here)

Stay tuned for a real post tomorrow.

Get Ready

...for a whole lotta pictures, because I got a new camera! We decided to go the Canon route this time, and after a somewhat strange and definitely interesting Craigslist encounter, bought a like-new Rebel XS, and an 18-200 lens. I LOVE this camera. I can't wait to sit down with the manual and really figure out everything it can do, but in the meantime, enjoy these random point-and-shoot shots I snapped this afternoon:

Everett, Reading, and Cheerios

I had a slow start to the day today. I was puttering around, cleaning the bathrooms, and making the bed. When I first heard Tegan and Everett fighting, I thought they'd work it out, but it quickly escalated.

Everett: Tegan, STOP!

Tegan: Nooooooooo!!!!

Everett: TEEEE-GAN!!

Tegan: Stop grabbing me!!

At that point, I intervened. I was finishing up in my bedroom, so I called Everett and asked him to come talk to me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears when he called back, "I can't! She'll wreck my cheerios!"

I went out to investigate, thinking he was eating breakfast. Instead I found him on a chair in the living room, trying desperately to defend the integrity of his name, carefully constructed in Cheerios, from Tegan, who wanted nothing more than to scatter them all over the floor. I picked up Tegan (while trying to corral the dog - also pretty bent on destroying, ie: eating -his creation), asked him if he wanted to take a picture of it, and went off to get my phone when he answered in the affirmative.

I snapped the picture and made sure he was satisfied with it. After I got his go-ahead, I let the girl and dog do their thing, and everyone was happy once again.

Everett is 6 1/2 at the time of this writing, and he will tell you that he's not reading yet. He is reading though, as recognizing letters is reading. Putting letters together into a word that has meaning to you is reading. He spells his name (with pen and paper too, not just Cheerios), he picks simple words and names out of signs, he's able to find all his shows on the DirecTv queue. He's playing with, and appreciating, and learning about letters and words, and I love watching it.

Just like his brothers before him, he is taking his own unique path to learning how to read and write. He has his own time table, his own method, and his own motivation. And because he's not having to perform according to anyone's specifications but his own, he is loving every minute of it. No one instructed him to make his name out of cereal. He did it because he had a big box of Cheerios and he thought it'd be a fun thing to do. He did it because he's a kid. He did it because that's what kids do.

One of the most basic and early questions that people have about unschooling (second only to those about the "S" word) is "But how will he learn to read??"

And the answer is no more complicated than this:

He'll learn to read like he learned to walk. He'll learn to read because the people around him read... beside him, and TO him. He'll learn to read because we live in an environment surrounded with the written word. He'll learn to read because we are there to involve him in our own experiences, to show him when he's curious, and to answer his questions when he asks them.

Learning to read is in board games. On TV. On street signs. It's on cereal boxes, and letter magnets, and computer programs. It's in sidewalk chalk and hopscotch games. It's on the emblem on Daddy's t-shirt, and on the bumper sticker in front of us on the highway. Learning to read is everywhere.

Even, sometimes, in Cheerios.

Appreciating History

I had one teacher in junior high and high school who made studying history interesting. He was what you'd consider a "tough" teacher - you definitely couldn't get away with anything under his watch - but he was good, and he was the only teacher I ever had that shared history in such a way that I actually enjoyed it.  Other than the classes I had with that one particular teacher, there are not words enough to describe just how bored I was with history.  It was truly not my "thing."  All those dates and names and wars and treaties and memorization...... 

Yes, I struggled with history.  As an adult, I appreciate its significance on the world and the country we live in today (though I still couldn't recount 90% of the details that I had to memorize for my tests in school), but it's surely taken me awhile to get here.

The kind of history that I do love, and have always loved, is the kind that I can touch.  The kind that isn't in a book but is right in front of me.  The kind that I can see, and feel, and close my eyes and imagine that I was there, as a participant and not just an observer.  I've taken some neat field trips with the kids, to places like the Pioneer Living History Museum, and Sahuaro Ranch, but they still weren't as meaningful to me personally as a piece of history that has not been restored or re-created, turned into something that's specifically meant to be educational, or designed to be a must-see attraction.  It's still not the same as something that just is.

Last weekend, we joined a few other vehicles on a way-too-fun off-roading trip.  We crossed rivers,

Drove down cliffs,

enjoyed the desert scenery,

stopped to appreciate an old foundation,

and met Miner Bob.

Miner Bob lives in a cabin that's been standing since the late 1800's.  He graciously talked to us, showed us around, and let us wander in and out of his cabin.  I loved how sturdy it still was, how simply but beautifully made.  I loved knowing that it's been there, out in the middle of the desert, for over a hundred years.  I loved imagining the people who once stayed there, using the fireplace, walking the land, and just living their lives.  It made me think of Thoreau, and Walden, and "living deep and sucking the marrow out of life."

Now that's history.  And as a side note, I loved our old home in New Hampshire for all the same reasons.  Unfortunately, two of the boys missed the little impromptu visit to the past because they were off playing in this:

And getting an education of an entirely different sort :)

We caught up with everyone when we reached our destination - the teeny little old town of Cleator - where we stopped for a bite, and a beer, at the bar.  

A bar that no doubt had a lot of interesting history of its own.

I've Turned Into My Mother

I remember watching movies with my mom when I was little, even as a teenager, and looking at her like she was crazy when she would - inevitably - start to well up with tears. She cried when she was happy, she cried when she was sad, she cried when she was touched. I didn't get it.

And now, years later, it's happened. I don't know if it's getting older, or becoming a mother or what, but somewhere along the way someone flipped a switch. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm touched. I can't seem to stop getting all misty-eyed. Case in point: someone posted this video, from a couple of years ago, of a little girl on America's Got Talent. It's just a four year old girl singing. Okay, she's arguably one of the cutest four year old singers ever, but still. Tegan wanted to watch it again and again and again and again, and by the time she ran offstage to hug her parents, my eyes were leaking. Every time. Every single time.

I'm my mom. But I guess if I have to be someone else, my mom's not a bad person to be....

Adventures at Target

So, I got an email tonight - just a run-of-the-mill, informational type email - and the sender seemed to have an attitude.  I was complaining to my husband that she didn't have to be so snotty about it, and he looked at me and said, "What is the matter with you?  Why do you want to get into it with everyone lately?"

Um.

I guess I have been extra .... passionate ... lately.    Really, can I blame some of it on lack of sleep?  To show that I'm really not out to "get into it with everyone" I decided to post a more lighthearted blog, the kind that I started with when I first started blogging:  a slice-of-life story of me and the kids.

I had a $50 Target gift card that I've been wanting to spend.  We didn't get to go this past weekend, for various reasons.  I was going to go with the kids yesterday on my birthday, but.... well, we didn't.  Also for various reasons.  Today I was determined to go, and the kids all wanted to go too.  It took until 4:00 in the afternoon, but finally we went.  I helped Everett count out his change, the older boys also grabbed some cash, and off we went.

Our first hurdle was getting the proper cart.  Tegan is currently very, very particular about riding in carts.  We needed to find the kind that has the two big seats in the front, the kind that is big and heavy and almost impossible to push, but one that would fit both her and Everett.    A nice older lady was looking at us (people often look at us when we go out, I guess because most people don't have four kids), overheard our conversation, and told us that she saw the cart we were looking for near the other entrance.  We thanked her, and headed to get our cart.

Paxton climbed onto one of the big concrete balls, because a trip to Target isn't complete without climbing onto the big concrete balls.  He sat on one and thoughtfully said, "These balls seemed so much bigger when I was little."  Spencer laughed, because Spencer always laughs when someone says "balls."

We got our cart, and the next twenty minutes was spent playing musical seats.  Tegan in, Everett in.  Everett out, Tegan in.  Tegan out.  Everett in but standing.  Tegan in, but dragging her feet on the floor.  Everett out.

We looked at office supplies first, because I get really, really excited about things like dry erase markers.  A new package of colored, magnetic markers into the cart.  Then we walked through the women's clothes where we (and my apologies to any of you who like them) laughed at all the jean leggings.  I wanted to try something on, then wondered aloud how I'd manage it alone with the kids.  Paxton and Spencer promised they'd be in charge of the littler ones, and told me to try on whatever I wanted.  So I did.  And I was a little irritated that the girl working at the fitting room was in the middle of a personal phone call both when I entered and exited.

Hmh.  Maybe I *do* want to get into it with everyone.

It was about that time that I realized that I couldn't really shop for myself.   It was just too difficult.  Not because anyone was doing anything wrong... just because 5 people + end of the day + tired mom = not very conducive for browsing.  I was already kind of sensed out, the kids were wanting to go in different directions, and we were all getting hungry.

I put my markers back on the shelf, then waited while they browsed through the toys.   An hour and a half after we got there, we left, without a dime of my $50 spent.  The boys all bought themselves a soda, I bought Tegan her requested pack of Cheetos at the register, then we all got back in line after Everett counted his change again and saw that he had enough to buy a package of gum too.  It was busy by then, and we'd gotten behind a women with about 72 items in the 10 item or less line, so I left the big boys in charge of Everett while Tegan and I went to the little in-store Starbucks near the registers.  Bummed that I never did buy anything, I treated myself to a caramel frappucino, the kids climbed on the balls again, and we finally headed out to the car.

I struggled opening Tegan's Cheetos, the bottom of the bag exploded, and it rained Cheetos all over the floor of my Sequoia.

And we all lived happily ever after (And I will bring my husband the next time I go to Target)

Guilt

From Dictionary.com:

Guilt
1. the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, esp. against moral or penal law; culpability.
2. a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

My Protecting Natalie post, which turned out to be the second most-viewed blog I've ever written*, elicited this response from one of the moms who read it.

"...it heaps on the mommy guilt by the shovel full..."

She went on to say that perhaps instead of feeling sorry for the child, that I should have shown more compassion and understanding for the mom, and that my message would have been more well-received if I'd illustrated with my own short-comings as a mother.

She was not alone in her thinking, as the lengthy and exhausting exchange - much of which took place all over my Facebook wall - with another mother ultimately proved. Apparently I came across as harsh and judgmental, reprimanding instead of caring.

I'm going to have to be okay with that.

Protecting Natalie was about the children. If I'd wanted to write a commentary about my thoughts on that particular woman, I would have called it "Natalie's Mother." If I'd wanted to confess my own many sins and make everyone feel better, I would have called it "My Own Failures as a Parent." Simply put, I didn't write that particular post to soothe and validate and pat on the back every mother who's ever had a bad day - which, of course, is every mother - but to speak out for a child. Does that make me uncaring? I don't think so. But if I have to choose between seeming uncaring towards adults and making a valid case for children?

I will choose the children. Every. Single. Time. And without apologies.

My intent was absolutely not to heap guilt on anyone, but in a way, hearing that reinforces the truth of what I was saying.  Truth sometimes hurts.  When I go to church and I hear a message or lesson or scripture that hurts, that steps on my toes and makes me uncomfortable, I know that it's one I needed to hear.  And chances are, the more uncomfortable it makes me, the more I needed to hear it.  The same is true for essays and articles on parenting and kids and unschooling.  While validating, group-hugging, Kumbaya-singing pieces are nice sometimes, the growing comes from the hard stuff... the stuff that makes me want to wince with its honesty and truth.

And here's the thing:

I do myself, and my children, no favors by giving into guilt:  mommy guilt or otherwise.  Why are we so hard on ourselves, especially when it comes to parenting?  What good can possibly come from wasting time and energy dwelling on bad past decisions?  Isn't it just yet another self-serving excuse as to why we can't move past it, can't do better, can't be the parent that we really know, deep deep down, that we want to be... that we know we should be?

I'm not going to feel guilty for my past mistakes (or future mistakes for that matter), and I'm not going to make excuses for why I can't do better, right now, today.  If I have feelings of guilt, or inadequacy, or regret, I need to GET THE HECK OVER IT and do better the next time.  It's not about me, it's about them.

It's not about me,

It's

About

Them

*Number one is still Offensive, Defined, and I'm proud of it, so check it out if you haven't. :)

I've Learned

I turn 37 today.  I like the sound of that.  Just as I enjoyed the latter part of my 20's, I am enjoying inching toward 40 as well... in fact, even more.  The grey hairs, the furrow lines, the extra 5 pounds and all.  Here are a few things I've learned in the past year:

1. I shouldn't drink wine while I'm on my laptop.  Or water or coffee or tea or any other sort of beverage.  This one is so important, I got to learn it over and over again.

2.  Sometimes I need to give people more credit.  And sometimes less.

3.  People really do come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  If it's for a reason, sometimes the reason is quickly apparent, and sometimes it takes a long time to figure it out.  But it's there.

4.  Going on roller coasters is ten times as fun when you get to enjoy it with your kids, especially when it's their first time.

5.  Thinking is good.  Too much thinking is not good.  Thinking at 2:00 in the morning when I can't sleep may or may not be good.

6.  If there's a trailer parked in the street, I will back into it.

7. There are people in my life that I will never understand, and I need to be okay with that.  Another one I get to learn over and over and over.

8.  For years I thought I needed to develop a "thicker skin."  I do not.  I need to learn to learn to be comfortable with the skin I was given.  I am sensitive for a reason.

9.  Sometimes it's best to remain silent. Sometimes it's not.

10.  Life is messy.  Beauty can be found in the chaos, in the calm, and in everything in between.